


The Orphan Girl's Song

by live_die_be



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/live_die_be/pseuds/live_die_be
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And maybe if she had a heart, she'd be feeling it breaking, just a little, but she doesn't, and she won't. Namine centric drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Orphan Girl's Song

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted to ff.net and LJ.

She's a frail, thin, wisp of a girl, pushed back into a corner like a child's long forgotten toy, distantly remembered, left to collect dust. Which is as good a description for her as any, for all her usefulness, she is unremarkably forgettable.

She sits there silently, drawing. What could seem like the pasttime of a child, or perhaps the product of an ill mind is indeed a tool to be used for far more sinister deeds, things only the strangest, most twisted of children would ever think of.

She is a witch, one who can twist the memories of others, though her appearance, with white blonde hair and pretty blue eyes paired with white, pure clothing, lacking only the wings to make her truly appear an angelic being, would never betray the darkness in her soul.

Or rather, _lack_ of soul. She has no heart, this angel, she is one of the fallen, someone good, and pure, and innocent, warped by the desires of those who themselves have never been innocent, and cannot even comprehend that one such as her, a nobody, could hold a conscience, felt guilt.

For they are truly cold, unfeeling creatures of darkness, ones who only remember what it's like to feel, and even those memories have faded such that they can no longer remember at all.

She lives in a castle, this wraith, a fine one by the name of Oblivion, ruled by a lord with rose pink hair, and his lady, a woman with shocking cruelty.

He is her master, and she must obey his wishes.

And so she sits and sketches, the rich colors and lines taking shape, reforming the memories of someone who is equally pure, equally untouched. She feels as though she knows him, or maybe it's just her own desire to know someone who's soul isn't a dark and ugly thing. To know him, this young boy. This hero.

She feels _guilt_. She feels _remorse_ knowing what she's doing, knowing that what she is doing could change the fate of all the worlds. But still she sketches, because her master, the man of feathery pink hair commands it.

She hates him for it.

And maybe, if she had a heart, she'd be feeling it breaking, just a little, but doesn't, and she won't.

She is a nobody, she is _nothing_.

**The Orphan Girl's Song, by Rainer Maria Rilke**

I am nobody and I'll be nobody.  
Now of course I'm still too small for being;  
but later, too.

Mothers and fathers,  
have pity on me.

Not that I'm worth the pain of raising:  
I'll be reaped regardless.  
No one can use me: today it's too early,  
tomorrow too late.

I have only this one dress,  
it fades and it wears thin,  
but it will last an eternity  
even in God's light perhaps.

I have only these locks of hair  
(always they shine the same)  
that once were someone's dearest love.

Now he loves nothing anymore.

  



End file.
